I Go Crazy
by englishfire23
Summary: Hank's going crazy. And it's all because of Buck Strickland's niece... Read and rate please! RATED M FOR EXPLICIT CONTENT!
1. Chapter 1

The Texas air blew through the branches stirring brown and orange leaves and scattering them into the fiery horizon. The sun sat low in the bowels of the sky like a large flame dying slowly, its rays like spindly red fingers reaching out, trembling into the rising darkness. It was strange to watch the summer come to a close and the impending autumn hanging over the town thickly. The sky even looked different; tired and grey with colorless flat clouds introducing the soon to be cool change in the temperature. It was the slowest time for Strickland Propane because it was too warm to have the heater on, but too cool to have barbecues or parties. Hank hated the feeling that the autumn brought on because he knew that this would be the time he had to catch up on all the paper work he had neglected over the busy season. He sighed heavily and turned in his chair to face his window. Cars crept by the building in what seemed to be a lackadaisical atmosphere that had captured the whole town. It was strange. The quiet around him even made it stranger. The building had cleared out at about three o'clock with Mr. Strickland taking a lady friend to his cabin, Enrique and Joe Jack on calls out to Durndle refueling a few trailer parks and then Donna, of course, being out sick. Not that Hank minded. He rarely had a moment of silence and right now he soaked it up. He sharpened a pencil lazily and threw it down on his desk. It rolled nosily to the corner of a notebook and teetered on the edge of the large stack of papers that had accumulated in the center of the desk. Hank blew softly causing the pencil to roll off and hit the metal chair with a clunk.

"Excuse me," Came a tiny voice. Hank leapt from his desk nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't hear the door," He said as he bumped into a char-king imperial and awkwardly knocked a few accessories to the floor. "Dang it. I'm sorry," He never met her eyes as he made a bumbling fool of himself, but he heard her chuckle warmly and she knelt beside him to help pick up the mess. "You don't have to do that. I can take care of this."

"No, I don't mind," She said softly, her slender fingers grazing the top of his hand. Hank looked up at her as she tended to the disarray he had created graciously, her golden hair falling over her face shielding her from his prying eyes.

"Thank you and pardon my clumsiness. I hope this doesn't affect your opinion of propane. We here at Strickland Propane require excellence in all we do and my behavior was unacceptable…" He rattled on inelegantly, tripping over words and finding it hard to speak properly. Heat rose into his cheeks and he could barely suppress his embarrassment as she put a hand over his mouth tenderly.

"No apologies necessary. It was an accident. Now, I was told by Buck Strickland that you were the man to see about a job," She was direct and outright. Hank gawked at her for a moment and snickered. Mr. Strickland had more often than once sent a mistress to work in the store, but Hank felt that it was inappropriate and made the workplace feel well… unclean. She handed him a few sheets of paper that appeared to be her resume. He only glanced and then shifted it to his other hand and behind his back.

"Well, we aren't really hiring at this time. In fact, it's coming up on our slow season. You can come back in January when we may need some more salespeople on the floor…" She cut him off quickly.

"I am not a salesperson. I'm an accountant," Her voice was sharp and she seemed to almost challenge Hank's power.

"Well, I'm sorry, but we currently have an accountant. She's out sick today, but she is technically a part of Team Strickland most days of the week," He turned and adjusted his glasses carefully. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms.

"That's not what I was told. I suggest you get on the phone to Strickland and straighten this out," Hank stared at her in awe of her audacity and complete rudeness.

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" He asked, his face reddening from irritation.

"I didn't say,"

"Well, can I at least get your name so I can tell him who I am referring to, Ms…." He looked at the paper she had handed him closely and he choked on his words.

"Scarla… Strickland," She said and the words were like a jab in his side.

"Ms. Strickland?"

"I am Scarla Strickland. Buck Strickland's niece," He suddenly felt stupid and ashamed of his tone that he had taken with her.

"Oh, I had no idea. I apologize Ms. Strickland. I'm Hank Hill, assistant manager," He put his hand out for her to shake, but she merely stared at him. "Um, okay. Well, I was unaware that you were going to be here today, so I don't really know what you should be doing. Mr. Strickland went to his cabin for the weekend."

"Well, I'm replacing the incompetent girl that worked in accounting before," She said matter of fact, adjusting her glasses. Hank didn't realize that Buck had arranged this and he looked stupefied for a moment.

"Oh, I didn't know," Hank stood uncomfortably and rubbed his neck.

"Well, you know now!" She exclaimed in an exasperated tone. "So show me to my office, or desk or whatever, so I can survey the damage."

He cleared his throat and pointed to Donna's desk. The desk was stacked with papers and folders and old empty soda cans. Hank saw her roll her eyes and he smiled a little.

"Donna didn't really do too much," He said as Scarla investigated the desk. She didn't respond, only an indignant snort left her lips. She pulled the financials from the shelves and flipped through them.

"This is a mess. It'll take me months to straighten things out!" She said quietly.

"Yeah I always wondered what the hell Donna did while she was here…"  
"Well isn't it your responsibility as assistant manager to KNOW what she is doing… and everyone else for that matter?"

"Well hold on a second…"  
"No, you hold on a second," her cheeks turned flush and she gripped a folder tightly in her hand. "This is Strickland Propane. These books are Strickland Propane and if you can't keep up with them, then you mind as well not be in business!" Her voice was sharp. "What if my uncle were to get audited? Hm? Do you know how much trouble he'd be in?"

"Look, I'll admit, I don't watch over everyone like a hawk, but I've been Buck Strickland's right hand man for over a decade! So you don't need to question my methods. I have been doing this job probably longer than you've been alive, missy!" He stared at her, his eyebrows knitted tightly together. She crossed her arms and stared a hole in him, as the front door opened and a customer came in.

"This is your fault," He heard her whisper as she began to go through the contents of the desk impatiently.

"Good afternoon! Something I can help you with, sir?"


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Hank returned home and cracked a beer open in the alley with the guys. He sighed and drank a long gulp of the can's contents. It was strange how just one person could throw off the whole balance of a workplace. She seemed to think that she could just treat people however she wanted to just because she was a Strickland.

"What's wrong, Hank?" Bill asked softly. "I haven't seen you this upset since the cowboys lost in the play offs."

Hank sighed heavily and adjusted his glasses. "Buck's niece is working at Strickland now."

"Well what's the problem?" Dale said heavily between puffs of his cigarette.

"She's a real bitch. I mean she accused me of not doing my job. I don't know what I'm going to do with her. I can't work while she's staring at me with those eyes. Like she wants to rip my throat out or something…"  
"What does she look like?" Bill asked. "Is she pretty?"

Hank sat there for a second trying to remember what she looked like and all he could remember was that she had green eyes. Evil green eyes. Like a wicked cat, glowing in the darkness.

"I don't know, Bill. The point is, she's already driving me nuts and she wasn't even there a full day. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I could get rid of her," said Dale who was looking off in the distance, his face unreadable.

"No, Dale. She's Mr. Strickland's niece. I'll just have to have a talk with him about her," Hank responded with a great sigh. "She's taking Donna's place as the company accountant."

"Well, you better keep her in line because she will have your balls in a mason jar underneath her desk if you don't," Dale crudely offered. He was right, crude, but right. Did she think she was his boss? If she thought she was going to talk to him like that anymore she had another thing coming to her. Or maybe it was the beer. Good Ol' liquid courage making him feel empowered to act.

"She's terrible. She's got these stupid little square glasses that just make me so mad. Donna may have been useless but at least she wasn't a bitch," He slurred loudly, his hand juggling his glasses around on his face as if mocking her. "Can you believe she screamed at me and told me I didn't care about Strickland? I care more than anyone, about Strickland!"

"I will take her out if you so desire. Blink once if you want me to…" Dale said staring into Hank's eyes. He just shook his head and chuckled under his breath.

"No, Dale, no… I'll just have to sort things out the old fashion way. Good strategy," Hank said.

"Man, talkin' bout dang ol' women in the workplace. Complain, complain, complain," Boomhauer said nonchalantly, his hand dipping into the pockets of his faded jeans.

"You got that right. And this one looks like she's gonna be a real pain in the ass," He said, finally finishing his beer and crushing the can until it folded inward in his hand.

"Mhmm…"

"Yep."


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks past and the autumn unfurled itself to its fullest. Business had picked up which left little time for Hank and Scarla to interact. He was happy about that. He would still see her every day, her face buried deep in her work. She didn't speak, but her eyes told a murderous story when she'd catch a glimpse of him. Why the hell did she hate him so much? It's not like he had ever done anything to her. She was the one who attacked him about Donna's shoddy job at keeping the books. At first it bothered him that she had no respect for him, but slowly, he fell into a routine of ignoring her. Today, however, they were alone in the office together. He had been working on purchase orders and she was sitting quietly at her desk, number crunching. He could hear her tapping her nails on the desk repeatedly and for some reason it drove him insane. The constant clicking of fingernails was maddening!

"Could you please stop that? I'm trying to concentrate," He asked politely. She ignored him and tapped louder and faster. He cast his eyes out his window and watched the town creep by car after car. What had he done to deserve this? He got up from his desk and walked on to the showroom floor.

"Excuse me, Ms. Strickland?" He tapped her on the shoulder. She turned her head slowly and looked at him from the corner of her eye. "I asked you to please stop that tapping."

"Oh, is this bothering you?" She asked calmly, gesturing to her left hand. "Well, you know what really bothers me?" He didn't respond. "Well?" She was quiet for a moment. "No, okay. I'll tell you. Someone who has a total lack of respect for important things like monthly taxes." She straightened her back and began writing again.

"Okay. That tears it! I've tried being nice to you and treat you with more respect than you treat me with. I've had enough of you!" She stood up suddenly, causing Hank to step back and stumble unceremoniously into the desk behind him.

"What are you gonna do? Fire me?" She taunted with fire in her green eyes, her voice slicing him to the core.

"What in the hell is your problem?" he asked loudly.

"YOU!" Her eyes shut tightly and she clenched her fists. Hank stared at her, wide eyed, mouth agape. He couldn't understand her dislike for him. It made no sense to hold such a grudge against someone for a few errors in the accounting work. "Now, please, leave me alone, so I can finish my work!"

"I don't think so, missy. We are going to resolve this right now! If you've got something to say then say it!"

"I don't like you." She said flatly.

"Well good, I don't like you much either. In fact, I dread seeing you!" He said. They were at each other's throats, spinning around the room as though they might lash out and wrestle one another to the death.

"That makes two of us then!" Her eyes cut him down to size. "You act like you know everything and treat everyone like they are stupid or incompetent except when it means the most!"

"You walk around here all painted up like some prostitute…"  
"Excuse me! I don't think so! I've seen your wife and you aren't exactly one to be judging looks!" He had to admit she was good with her feisty come backs.

"Your clothes are entirely too tight!" He said pointing at her get-up. "What do you think the customers think when they come into get their tanks filled! We aren't running a goddang brothel! And How is anyone supposed to work when you walk around looking like THAT!"

"Oh really. So that's what this is about! The way I dress bothers you because you find me attractive! Well sorry, bub, you aren't my type!" She rolled her eyes and through her arms up, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth.

"Yeah, in your dreams, lady. I'm talking about me having to practically peel Joe Jack and Enrique and even your own uncle away from you!" He adjusted his glasses and crossed his arms.

"Did you ever think for one second, that it didn't have to do with the way I looked and depended more on the fact that I treat people kindly!" He watched her body language as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Did you ever think for one second it's because you are busting out of your blouse?" He hit a nerve and she reddened to a shade of ruby.

"You know what, HANK," She put emphasis on the 'k'. "You will NOT dictate what I wear and how I dress. I am a professional and I dress that way!" They had inched closer together until they were standing nose to nose.

"No, you dress like a harlot! What do you think this is? A strip club?" With that last word, she raised her hand and slapped him across the left cheek, causing a red whelp to raise immediately on his skin.

"How. Dare. You." She growled, her lips going from full and red to a small crimson line on her face. Hank touched his cheek with his fingertips, his anger waning. He suddenly felt like a complete jerk. Her own eyes went from angry to hurt in a second as she gathered up her coat and bag. "Here. Have it all. You can keep the books, because I'm leaving," He could hear the quiver, and visualized tears threatening to spill over those murderous eyes. Well, maybe he shouldn't have attacked her appearance. That wasn't exactly professional, but it was the only weapon he had against her. She did her work and was thorough in a no nonsense kind of way. Idiot, he thought.

"No, Scarla, wait," He said calmly as she slammed the door angrily behind her. "Damnit!" How would he explain this to Buck?

Hank looked at the wall clock as it ticked to four o'clock and he sighed. He couldn't leave the store to go after her while no one else was around, so he called her. And called her. He knew she was just ignoring the calls.

"Scarla, its Hank. I just wanted to apologize. Call me back at the office. I'll be here until 5." And he hung up the phone. He'd probably have to go to her house to explain how terrible he felt for what he said. While her clothes were slightly provocative, she never really dressed like a harlot. She never showed any bare skin. Her skirts were always knee length with stockings underneath, her bosom was always covered, never revealing any cleavage and she was well put together. She was getting the books together and doing the accountant's job. She never played on the computer and was always working in the accounting program. He shouldn't have attacked her.

Hank's eyes drifted out the window at the grey, sunless sky, an overwhelming feeling of dread crept up his spine. Sometimes he needed to just shut his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

After work, he took a ride by her house, but her car wasn't there. Hank looked at her house. It was a cozy square house with a carport and a well-manicured lawn. Of course she keeps a neat lawn. She was a dang perfectionist. Just like him. She had one single light on at the front door, but the rest of the house lay in darkness. He sat outside waiting for her for a while. The grey sunless day, rolled into a velvety, starless night. He looked at his watch and groaned. 7 o'clock. He dialed her number again and let it ring until it hit the voicemail, but he hung up. He would be in deep tomorrow with Mr. Strickland. Trying to explain this argument would make him look like a jackass. This was his niece. His favorite niece. He trusted her as much as he trusted Hank and he was going to take some heat for sure.

Hank passed Strickland and gasped. Her car was there and the light was on in the showroom. He finally would get to talk to her and resolve this whole mess. He'd just simply blame it all on himself and hope that she'd take that apology and stay. That way he'd never even have to tell Mr. Strickland about this whole issue. He pulled into the parking lot and shut his truck off. Deep breath. He hated apologizing, but he knew that it was the only way to fix this.

He opened the door and was hit with a vision he'd never forget and his blood boiled.

"What the hell is going on?" He yelled, his voice unwavering. Scarla jumped and so did the man standing in front of her. It was John Redcorn, his long dark hair swaying in the breeze that opening the door had created. She was sitting on the desk, her leg propped up long ways.

"Hank." John Redcorn acknowledged.

"Oh, it's only you," Her voice was small.

"What are you doing here John Redcorn?" Hank questioned, accusatory looks burning in his eyes.

"He was helping me out!" Scarla said in an equal accusatory tone.

"IS that what they're calling it these days?" Hank slammed his keys down on the desk closest to the door. John Redcorn looked at the two as they resumed their fight from earlier.

"I'm sorry, but are you accusing me of what I think you are?"

"Well, I'm going to be going. Scarla, if your ankle does not stop hurting, come to my healing center and I'll prescribe something," John Redcorn opened the door and slipped out quietly, the two never peeling their eyes from one another.

"You don't ever bring anyone into this building after hours, young lady!" Hank said, his throat aching from the force of his yell.

"Oh, what? I'm a child now!?" She stood in front of him, her feet bare and ankle limp, causing her to be much shorter.

"I don't know who you think you are, but I will not stand for that kind of… absolute… complete and total disregard for the rules of this establishment," Hank's voice was low and menacing, but had no effect on the girl that stood before him. Her slender arms crossed her chest tightly and her eyebrows knitted together in a stare that could have killed. Her eyes skimmed over him before her lips puckered outwards in a heart shape. He threw his hands up and groaned, his feet taking him into his own office. "I came to apologize, but I think you don't deserve that now! I know what you were doing with John Redcorn!"

"You are such an arrogant, self-absorbed, unfeeling, unkind, overbearing, domineering, dictatorial, chauvinistic asshole!" She slammed her hands down on the desk in front of him. "I knew you would twist this all out of whack and into something it's not."

"You listen to me, Mizz Strickland," He drew out the 'S' sound sharply and sarcastically like she had done earlier. "While you are here in this store working with me you will not bring your boyfriends in after hours while no one else is here. I don't care what you have to say about me. This is not your personal play house just because you are Buck Strickland's niece!" a single vein throbbed in his neck violently and a sweat had broken on his forehead. He had never been this angry. He couldn't stop imagining John Redcorn rubbing all over her on the desk in the lobby, her lips resting on his and their tongues playing roughly against each other in their mouths. Her knees spreading just enough for an evading hand to slip underneath her silky panties… Was this anger… and jealousy he felt so suddenly? He could barely stand to look at her with that thought assaulting in his mind. He wanted to vomit.

"You fail to hear me, you idiot. He is not my boyfriend! I came here to work on some reports that need to be filed tomorrow, since you drove me out. I went out to get in my car and I had a flat! Mr. Redcorn happened to be passing by when I flagged him down. He changed my tire and came in to wash his hands and use the restroom when I tripped on the rug and twisted my ankle! He was just being helpful" Her words were shrill and fast and tears threatened to spill from her eyes as the rage built in her belly.

"Is that what they call it these days? Being helpful," He said sardonically causing her to knock a stack of papers off of the shelf to the right of her. Hank stepped back as she cleared the desk that stood between them with another swoop of her hand, his back hitting the wall unceremoniously and knocking down a picture of he and Mr. Strickland shaking hands. She crawled on top of the desk, nails clawing viciously at the wood, her knees coming to rest underneath her, her black pencil skirt hiking over her hips revealing her tan thighs covered in nylon stockings. He stood in absolute shock at the sight before him. The look in Scarla's eyes was purely animalistic as she shook her hair free of its binds, long golden curls cascading down her back. Her fingers reached out for him and caught his shirt by the pocket, pulling him into her chest roughly. He could not believe what was happening. It was like some kind of madcap fantasy in a terrible porno flick. Her soft panting was maddening as she begged for him to kiss her, to look at her, to touch her. He moaned as she pressed her hand against the erection that had strangely developed in this fit of rage. All these emotions suddenly spilled over and he gripped the back of her neck roughly. He stared at her for a moment, her pale green eyes glassy and distant yet aware, her lips swollen and quivering. She beckoned him silently and grinded against him impatiently. He didn't know whether to slap her or kiss her into oblivion or maybe both. She'd like it either way.

"Mm-mmm please," She whispered her voice small and wispy. With that, he kissed her, deep and unyielding. Their tongues collided in some kind of fantastic ballet where neither knew the beginning or the end of one another. All the while Hank questioned his sanity. The know-it-all he could barely stand to be near was doing wonderful things to his body right now. Her perfume that had irritated him so was strangely erotic and intoxicating now and the long hair that he complained was a nuisance, always getting caught in the financials or dangling inside the client's books, somehow drove him crazy with desire as he ran his fingers through it. The shirts he thought were far too tight over her voluptuous bust were now the only thing he could imagine, only in his mind he was peeling them off slowly admiring the flesh he once could not bear to see. At one time he would have said she wore far too much make up, but right now it did not matter as he smeared her crimson lipstick with his mouth violently. He kissed her fingertips and up her arm to her throat where he suckled like a mad man until she bled, her body trembling wildly and her screams causing opiates to release within him, driving him closer to the edge of obscurity. She clawed at his belt, pulling it free and ripping his pants down in one swift motion leaving his throbbing erection bobbing on the outside of his shorts. Scarla moaned at the sight and pushed him back into the executive chair in his office roughly causing his head to hit the wall with a thud. Quickly, she slipped her black satiny panties down to her ankles, kicking them off. Hank watched as she sucked his fingers, first the index then the middle, taking them all the way down her hungry throat. A groan slipped past his lips as she touched his aching manhood.

"I want this. So bad. Inside of me," She purred into his ear, her words were like fire on his neck. "I want you to fuck me, so hard. I want to feel you…"Scarla worked her hand up and down his shaft expertly. "I want to feel you cum. So hard. Inside of my pussy." Her words were filthy, but exactly what he needed. He wanted all of those things too. Right then and there. She put her lips over the head of his dick and sucked, her tongue swirling softly around the sensitive flesh. His head dropped back and his heart pounded so loudly he could have sworn it was someone at the door. What in the hell was he doing? He thought as she stood up and straddled him, her arousal evident as she placed him at her wet entrance. Was this actually happening? She sank down on him slowly causing him to emit a deep growl. Oh my God, He thought, his glasses fogging as she leaned in to kiss him. Their bodies were one. Hank wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and lifted her up and down. She felt so good around him. Her body was strangling him, the tightness, the wetness, the silky feel of her burning hot sex. It was all nearly too much. She bounced angrily, gripping the back of the chair for leverage, her skirt getting torn in the process. Hank ran his nails down her neck and grasped a handful of her hair, pulling her head back enough for him to steal another suckle on the flesh he'd fallen in love with as she worked her tiny body on him. Her moans were sensational as he grinded into her tight warmth. She was so close. All he had to do was touch her. Hank slipped his hand between them and stroked her engorged clit for a moment. She winced in pleasure as he massaged circles over and over, her body faltering at every thrust. Her head fell back and she slowed. This was Hanks chance. He picked her up, their bodies never parting and pushed her back on the desk. She gasped and groaned as he was sure he had interrupted her orgasm. He wanted to have control of her. He wanted to push her into the abyss she so wantonly craved. Hank pushed her knees far apart, the heels of her tiny bare feet digging into his hips. She shivered as he pounded into her without wavering. He ached for his own release. Scarla looked at him, her eyes fluttering and her cunt clenching firmly down on him as he thrust faster and faster within her. Her back arched against him and suddenly they were swimming in the deep, their bodies exploding together. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. He emptied himself into her womb, her own body drinking him in and milking him violently. She screamed her pleasure into his mouth as they shared the final mind blowing kiss of the evening.


	5. Chapter 5

She didn't look at him as he came through the door that morning. Her head was in the downward position at her desk as she investigated her work. Hank cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

"Uh, good morning?" He said in the form of a question instead of a salutation. Scarla glanced up and nodded before returning to her work. "Well, alright then." That wasn't exactly what he expected after last night.

"Morning, Hank," Came the familiar voice of Enrique. Hank blushed brightly out of shame as he came face to face with Enrique who was sitting at his desk in the show room.

"Oh, morning, Enrique," He said, pulling his eyes from Scarla.

"I hear it's gonna be a cold one tomorrow!" Enrique laughed heartily and clapped his hands. "Business will be good!"

"Yep. Good Business is… uh Good!" Hank said with a nervous laugh, as he crossed into his office and sat down. There was still a mess on the floor, his papers scattered about and a few books crumpled under his desk. He started picking up, finding her rather lacy panties caught under the wheel of his chair, he pulled them free and stared at them.

"Now, what in the Sam Hill happened in here, Ol' Top?" asked Buck, who had flung himself into the room without introduction. Hank crammed the panties into his pocket, a tinge of pink creeping up his neck and exploding on his cheeks.

"Oh, uh nothing. Just doing a little autumn cleaning," Hank said as he pretended to sort the papers.

"Well get it cleaned up. Looks like a damn twister dun come through this place! Oh and I'll need you and Suga-babe to go over those tax reports this afternoon," Buck said as he loosened his tie. "Don't need them tax boys on my ass!"

"Wait, sir, I thought you were going to go over those reports with her. I think that's really something you should be doing," Hank said, a panic rising in him. He wasn't sure where he and Scarla stood and what their relationship would be like after last night, but he sure as hell didn't want to be alone in a room with her.

"Oh no Ol' Top, I've got me a little date with a sweet Florida flower called Lily. I'm headin' out early to the love cabin. Bout the time you gonna be going over them reports, I'll be tempting her with smooth jazz and the finest bubbly money can buy!" He laughed, as Hank rubbed his neck uncomfortably.

"But I think you should be here…"  
"Well damn son, I know you and suga-babe ain't exactly friends, but this is bid-ness. Now, I trust you to check those reports, so get it done and don't be scared to tell her she's wrong. Be firm with her, she needs it!" Buck turned on his heels and left the room.

Hank felt sick with nervousness. If only he knew what those words meant in Hank's mind.

The office emptied out as Joe-Jack and Rodger went out on calls, followed by Enrique making his way down to McMaynerberry to service a new client's home. They were alone again. Just the two of them. Hank sat quietly in his office as he finally finished picking up the ridiculous mess they had made the night before and he looked at the clock. It was only 1:30 and he was already wanting to scramble for the door.

"Knock, knock," she said softly. Hank jumped out of his seat and pulled the door all the way open.

"Oh, hello." Was all he could muster, as they finally managed to make eye contact. For the first time he noticed that she was attractive. Well, she was more than attractive, she was exquisite. Her long, beige and chocolate ringlets fell past her waist, her bangs sweeping down over her left eye. Her delicate, feminine features masked behind one of embarrassment and shame, but he couldn't help but still find her beautiful, even though he despised her only a day ago. He noted that she had dressed a little differently today, no skirt, and stockings, but black dress pants with a black belt. Her tight blouses were exchanged for a light cotton white shirt covered by a neat and tasteful grey jacket. She looked lovely standing nervously in front of his desk, wearing that outfit and an endearing blush in her cheeks. "Sit," he said as he tried not to look overly happy to see her. Scarla sat at his command and placed her folder down on his desk, her eyes downcast. There was silence around them and Hank tapped his fingers quietly. "Well?"

"Well, I've gotten together all the reports and redid all of the data entry because it was just a mess. The accounts are all reconciled and finally reflect the account in its true form. I did some journal entries and completed the monthly financial reports and the profit and loss statements are up to date. I did have a problem with her receipts and how she was keeping them so I scanned them all into the system and from now on we will keep them like that…" She didn't look at him, but he stared at her as she opened the folder to the first and second pages.

"Okay. That sounds, ahem, like a more… efficient way to keep them," He cleared his throat and interlaced his fingers on top of the desk.

"Yes. It is…" She locked eyes with him and blushed from her neck up. Hank blushed too. "So anyway, like I was saying. From now on when anyone has a receipt they will drop it in the drop box by my desk and I'll take care of it." Hank cleared his throat and nodded.

"Yes, that seems more efficient," He shoves his hand in his pocket and felt a flush of embarrassment wash over him again as he felt her silky panties in his pocket.

"You said that," She motioned impatiently. "What I really need from you..." She slid the folder across the desk and opened it to the last page. Her hands brushed his slightly and he groaned. "Is to sign these forms once you've gone over the reports."

"Ok. That seems easy enough," He dropped his pen onto the paper and smiled at her. She smiled back and stood up.

"Okay then. Let me know once you've finished reviewing those reports," and then she turned the corner and disappeared into the office. Hank tapped his pen onto the desk and sighed. She hadn't mentioned anything, but at least things were only slightly awkward and not nearly as hostile as before. Before last night, she would have killed him with those awful glares and icy sarcastic tones. Scarla Strickland was not exactly the person you'd want to have as an enemy because she made you feel the anger she had towards you. She was absolutely intimidating even to Hank.

The rest of the day crawled by at a snail's pace and left Hank feeling rather anxious. He had not mentioned the previous night and nor had his naughty accomplice, but there was an awkward tension any time they'd see one another. The office was otherwise empty aside from the occasional drop in customer, but it didn't matter because he still did not have the guts to approach her. He wanted to talk to her, but then he felt embarrassed. He had never done anything like that before in his life and it was just crazy!

Soon the day dimmed and the autumn Texas sky flooded with dark grey clouds that loomed over Strickland Propane like a cold phantom. It had gotten much cooler out since the afternoon and Hank could feel an ache in his bones. And an ache in his stomach suddenly brought on by running in to Scarla in the break room.

"Well, I suppose I'm knocking off," She said as she retrieved her grey knee length jacket from the closet and put it on.

"Alright. See you tomorrow then," bumbled Hank, who pretended to look for something in the refrigerator to mask his sudden rush of embarrassment as he noticed the large black and blue bruise on her neck where he had bit her roughly last night.

"Actually, Hank, I was hoping that you could come by my place this evening," She said softly, her hair falling over her eyes. Hank nearly dropped the milk as he pretended to root through the fridge. He looked up at her. She was slipping on her leather gloves and looking down at the ground, her lips set on the edge of a tiny smile.

"Uh," He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"You know, so we could talk about what happened last night," She finally made eye contact with him and he was rendered speechless.

Before, when he looked at Scarla Strickland, he saw nothing more than a spoiled and pestilent child, but today, she was a woman. Her fair face was bright and sparkling with something he did not see before and he couldn't place his finger on what it was, but she was different. Her eyes were the color of emeralds and they glistened like large open pools. He was scared that if he stared too long into them, he may drown in their fascinating depths. Hank pulled his eyes from hers and cleared his throat again.

"Well, I guess I could get away for a little while. What time?" He asked as he fiddled with the handle of the fridge.

"How about around 7?" She tied the belt around the waist of her jacket and adjusted her hair. Hank looked at his watch and thought for a moment.

"Yeah, that should work out. I don't have anything going on tonight. It's my wife's turn to host the neighborhood boggle bash." He finished.

"Ok. I'll see you then," She said softly, her velvety golden hair falling in her eye again.

Well, a talk was certainly in order after what happened between them. Maybe he could finally put to rest what he had stirred up. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth as he heard the front door close. He felt a tinge of guilt creep up his spine as he thought of his family. This would never happen again though. That night was just a moment of lost control. He wasn't even attracted to her. But that was a lie. The thought of her was enough to make his blood boil.


	6. Chapter 6

Seven o'clock rolled around and he pulled into her driveway. A feeling of fear washed over him suddenly. It was the feeling of a man that may not be able to control himself. He could barely contain himself at work when she was near. He could feel a swimming in his stomach when she'd get close, his feet getting ice cold and his face burning hot. It was strange and something he had never experienced.

Hank slowly got out of his truck and walked to the door, a silvery cat with flickering green eyes nearly tripping him on the way there.

"Get out of here, you furry bastard!" He whispered.

"What? You don't like cats?" Came a soft familiar voice. Hank's heart leapt into his throat as his eyes met hers. He cleared his throat and rubbed his neck nervously as he came to the edge of her porch and leaned on the railing for support. He couldn't respond. No voice would leave him as he stared at her. Her long hair was pulled up in a loose bun with golden brown tendrils framing her feminine face and a tiny smile played at her ruby lips. "Come in," She whispered, beckoning Hank with her hand. He followed willingly and found himself standing inside of her home.

It was cozy and warm, an orange fire glowing brightly in the hearth that sat in the center of the room at the farthest wall. Hank looked around. She had pictures of family and friends and lovely tapestries hanging from the windows. Her sofa was a chocolate brown with golden paisley designs gracing the fabric and fluffy matching pillows propped up neatly in each corner.

"This is my little house," She said with her arms open as though she were introducing the house like a person. For the first time Hank noticed that she was wearing a short silky white robe that revealed her toned legs and tiny bare feet. He smiled as she stood there waiting for his response.

"It's nice. Warm," He said looking around.

"Thanks."

She walked toward Hank and touched his shoulder, his eyes blinking uncontrollably.

"Relax. Please." Scarla almost begged. "I promise I won't bite." She paused and smiled. "I should be the one scared," She pushed down the collar of her robe to reveal that particularly angry looking mark that Hank had left upon her neck.

He suddenly felt very self- conscious, but smiled a little. "Yeah, sorry about that. You know, emotions and what not," Hank rubbed his neck and looked down. A tiny smile tugged at her mouth and she erupted in laughter.

"No need to be sorry."

Hank twitched a little out of nervousness as she sat down on the couch beside him and crossed her legs. There was silence for a moment as Hank met her eyes. The firelight swam warmly in her face and he couldn't help but admire her lovely features.

"Hank. I know we haven't gotten along and I'm not really sure what happened last night. I can't explain why I did what I did…" She looked down, that violent purple bruise coming into view again.

"Well, it wasn't just you. It was me too. I am just as guilty," He said softly, a big 'pop' emitting from the hearth.

"The truth is, Hank, while I enjoyed it, it's not something that can happen ever again…" Her voice trailed off.

Hank looked at her with a feeling of remorse tingling in his chest.

"I know…" He whispered. "I'm married. And you're Buck's niece and his favorite one at that. God only knows what he'd do to me if he found out. And my wife! She'd kill me!"

"That's not why. It can't happen again because I absolutely, positively cannot stand you!" She laughed. Hank looked at her sideways, a grin spreading over his face. "You are the epitome of an annoying boss!"

"I cannot stand you either, Scarla Strickland," He agreed. "You are a stuck up know it all!"

They both laughed, filling the room with lightness as the orange firelight flickered its long shadowy fingers over them.

"One last kiss before we go back to hating each other?" She offered nonchalantly after their laughter had dissolved into quiet. Hank glanced over at her. She was kissable, but why drag things out like this? They said good-bye, wasn't that enough? He hesitated. He wasn't the type to be affectionate at all. And this was, let's face it, a weird situation.

He cleared his throat and nodded reluctantly as her lovely eyes bored holes into him. She leaned in, her fingertips brushing the side of his face, and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. It was nothing like the previous kiss they had shared. This was soft and chaste, her lips lingering there and her soft eyelashes fluttering against his face. He touched her face with the palm of his hand, his lips moving to capture hers as she pulled away. She moaned softly as his hand grasped her neck and pulled her into his chest. She sucked his bottom lip, her tongue running across its length begging silently for entrance. Hank obliged and allowed her to delve cautiously into his mouth. For a moment, the world was gone. He couldn't remember anything except this moment. And then she pulled back, her eyes searched his face and she smiled weakly in the wake of that fantastic kiss.

"Well alright then," He said as they parted ways at the front door.

"Alright then," She agreed.

Hank pulled away from her little square house, a melancholy chill creeping into his heart. He could not shake the feeling of sorrow that had overcome him after that last kiss. There was something beautiful to it and to be honest, he'd miss it a little. What a strange couple days, he thought as he approached Rainey Street. He blinked lazily as he turned the corner and met the driveway. Hank could still see her reflection inside of his eyes. Lovely. Despite her absolute annoying work persona, she was something else altogether. Something different and she inspired him to feel a tickle of happiness in his otherwise routine life. But, he sighed as he turned his truck off, it was over and done with now. It was his secret. And hers as well. It was their secret. Forever. He smiled and looked at his house. It was perfection in itself. The lights were shining from the kitchen door, his wife and various neighborhood ladies scattered about the breakfast area staring at a boggle board. Bobby was sitting in his usual spot in the living room with Joseph and Connie sprawled beside him watching something on the television. And there was his trusty entourage standing outside in the alley, beers in hand. His life was picturesque to a fault because the one thing it was missing was feeling.


	7. Chapter 7

Scarla had never been much of a people person. She preferred sitting quietly with her head in a book. Alone. She was kind though. And it attracted those around her. Except Hank Hill. He was the worst kind of do- gooder, perfectionist. She wasn't sure how they ended up in the predicament and what in the world had come over her to make her do what she did. She felt a tinge of blush creep up her neck and spread onto her face as she pulled into the Strickland parking lot. It was inevitable, seeing him, even after playing sick for two days to escape the absolute pain that throbbed in her heart. Ok Scar, she thought, as she eyed herself in the vanity mirror. Time to pretend. She would do just that, pretend. Pretend that she never touched his face, or felt his body. There was nothing romantic to it after all. It was just sex. Aside from that painful, stupid kiss. The kiss that launched a thousand heartaches. A thousand regretful thoughts and a thousand unwanted tears. The kiss that damned her.

Scarla pulled her briefcase from the backseat of her car and threw her purse over her shoulder before looking at the gloomy sky that hung above like some dreadful, foreboding reaper there to slash the life from her. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a silvery bolt of lightning crashed down miles from where she stood sending a fright up her spine.

"Scarla…" It was a soothing and familiar voice, but it unnerved her still as she stood gazing into that distant cloud, raindrops beginning to fall. A hand touched her shoulder and she turned, her eyes meeting that damned man. "You'd better get inside, it's starting to rain." She stepped back and groaned, a puff of icy cold wind blasting through them.

"Don't touch me, you," Pretend, she thought. "I'll go in when I feel like it!"

Hank's hand dropped and he looked puzzled at her behavior. Didn't they just have this conversation three nights ago? Daft man!

"Well alright then," And he walked in. She wanted to cry, but then she couldn't because how stupid would she look? Crying over nothing.

The rest of the day crawled by as she worked on a few files, the last of the catching up over with. She was relieved, but devastated that there was really nothing left for her to do.

"Suga-babe! You got them files under control?" Buck was always so abrupt. She stood and smiled at him.

"Yes, everything is fine. I actually have finished sorting everything out," She smiled as Buck ran his hand over her back and patted her lovingly.

"That's my girl! How'd you get so damn smart? I tell ya, you give your ol' pappy a run for his money," He of course meant his younger brother Bill. Scarla was not a blood relative of Buck Strickland. Her mother married Bill Strickland after Scarla was four and her real father abandoned them. Bill had been worse than Buck though. He was neglectful, and an alcoholic to the worse degree. He had died a few years before from liver disease, leaving her mother, Marion, in debt. Strangely enough, Buck had taken a strong liking to Scarla and drew her under his wing at a young age, Marion becoming his mistress. It didn't bother Scarla like it may have with some people. She knew what she had to do to survive and felt no contempt toward her mother or Buck.

Buck beamed at her and straightened his tie. "I tell ya what, Suga-babe, tonight we are gonna have a steak dinner to celebrate. You, me and Ol' Top," He motioned for Hank to come near the desk. Scarla suddenly felt self-conscious and looked down at her desk. "What do ya say, Ol' Top? Steak dinner tonight to celebrate that my ass won't be in hot water come tax season?" He took Hank's shoulder and shook it playfully.

"Actually, Uncle Buck, I really can't. I have other plans tonight…"  
"Well, you betta be cancellin' them, girl, because we going out in style!" He said with a boisterous laugh.

"I mean, I'm just swamped tonight. It's just not a good time…" She begged, feeling Hank's eyes on her.

"Look, I know you and Ol' Top got off on the wrong foot," He looked at them both. "But let's let bygones be bygones and celebrate with a steak and a drink. What do ya say, suga-babe?"

"Sir, if she doesn't want to go don't force her..." Hank interrupted.

"No, no. I'll go. I guess I'll reschedule my other… plans for another night," She responded, her hand coming up to stop Hank mid-sentence.

"Well, that settles it. Ol' Top, you pick Suga-babe up at her place round 8 o'clock and meet at The Crystal Room," Scarla nearly choked. She was trying to stay away from Hank, but things kept pushing them together. She just knew her face was red and she could feel her ears burning hot from the shame of the last week.

"The Crystal Room? Well that's… that's formal dining. So gowns and tuxedos?" Scarla responded before adjusting her glasses.

"Damn right, girl. I told ya'll we was going out in style!" Oh dearest Buck, she thought. How she'd love to strangle him. She captured Hank's eye for a second and glared at him, a sheepish grin spreading across his lips. What the hell was he smiling at? Big oaf! She rolled her eyes and sat back down in her desk as the two men disappeared to their offices.

Her mind was blank as she stared at her computer screen. All she wanted was 100 miles between her and Hank so she could live a normal life without thoughts of him filling her. They were at a mutual understanding that this relationship or whatever the hell it was, was not going to continue, but the desperate loner inside of her desired his attention. She sighed heavily and took a long slow sip from her coffee mug.

"Whatsamatter, honey?" Joe Jack asked as she let her head drop into her hand. She smiled at him and adjusted her black rimmed glasses.

"I'm fine, just tired," She replied, her face filling with the realization that she wore her emotions quite vividly on her sleeve.

"You're tired sure looks a heck of a lot like sad," He said between bites of a Bavarian cream filled donut. She laughed a little and shook her head softly. Was it really that obvious?

She needed to get over this immediately before these ridiculous feelings caused her trouble.


	8. Chapter 8

Night had fallen quietly over the town as Scarla dressed for this evening outing. There was a sense of fear in her as the clocked ticked closer to 8 and the truth was she didn't know how she should react to seeing Hank. Should she be friendly? Should she be quiet? She wondered if he was as confused as she was.

Her eyes adjusted to the contacts as she popped them in and then applied a pale pink lip gloss over her lips. Then there was a knock at her door. She stared at herself in the mirror and all she saw was fear.

The door was like an obstacle course to get to in his mind. He had to will his feet to take him there, but it was like lifting 2 ton anvils and his heart was pounding when he finally made it there and knocked like he had just run a marathon. Even the armpits of his suit were damp. He straightened his black bow tie and knocked again. Hesitantly, the door opened and there she stood. Beautiful was not the word for her. Maybe magical would have fit better. He stepped back and smiled.

"Well, you look… downright lovely," He complimented. She gave him a sideways look as he stared at her standing there in an ankle length black gown. Her bare shoulders were thin and elegant as she stood there looking at the floor and clutching a black and silvery purse in her hand.

"Don't get fresh with me!" She said from under her black eyelashes. Hank took her wrist in his hand as she brought it up to shield herself from his touch.

"We don't have to pretend here." He pulled her wrist down, his fingers still clutching her softly. She trembled and he smiled. What else could he say to her? She was standing there, eyes clenched shut and face cast downward as though she were embarrassed, but it was just the two of them. No one was there to pick apart the last few days. Only he and her. They only knew what happened.

"I'm not pretending. I really can't stand to be near you," She smiled a little, her eyes popping open.

"And I can't stand it either." His hand wound itself around her back and pulled her closer to him, her chest colliding with his. Her scent was intoxicating and her warm body pressed against his was so inviting to say the least. The silky fabric of her dress slipped between his fingers and he inched his hand up her back to the soft bare flesh of her neck. She whimpered under his caress, her eyes clamping shut again. Hank couldn't stop himself from kissing her exposed throat and basking in her gloriously supple skin. He said he wouldn't, but by God, he could not help himself as she stood there looking so incredibly beautiful.

"Please…" It mirrored a time before, her begging. He pushed her into the house and slammed the door behind him with his foot, his arms crushing her to him in a fit of passion. In a split second, she was pressed roughly into a wall, their lips and tongues entwined. He couldn't stop himself or control what he felt. He barely recognized himself as he ripped his belt and trousers open.

"NO! Stop now!" She moaned, as his hand lifted her flowing dress and crushed the fabric into a ball, revealing her thighs. Hank looked down at Scarla, her cheeks tear stained and her lips red from the assault he had inflicted upon her. What the hell was he doing? "I can't do this. I don't want to torture myself because I know that this will never go anywhere!" He dropped the crumpled ball of fabric and slammed his hand into the wall above her head.

"I know." He whispered, into her forehead, his lips grazing the flesh. Hank backed away and stared into her pale face, her lips still blood red and lipstick smeared. She was beautiful. There was no other way to describe her. There was nothing he could say other than that. Scarla met his eye as he leaned against the wall and sighed. "I'm sorry. I just… I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you." She said, her hand coming up to wipe her lips. "Please understand how I feel, though. I don't want to be involved in something that will never move forward. I'm a young woman and I need something else… I need someone who can offer me something," She was right and he knew it. He nodded quietly. "Excuse me while I go freshen up."

Hank slumped against the wall and sighed, his heart still thrumming in his chest and his vision finally becoming clear again. He was a stupid man. He had to accept the fact that what they had for a moment was…well, just a moment. It was something exciting and beautiful and erotic and terrifying all wrapped up in a tiny 5 feet 2 inch box named Scarla. She clung to his every thought, his every waking moment, and his every dream. Her words were like molasses, drowning him in a sweet, sticky river of emotions that he did not fully understand. He ran a stray hand through his hair and straightened his glasses.


	9. Chapter 9

Scarla answered the door half expecting it to be Buck standing there in formal attire, but to her surprise the person she dreaded seeing the most had actually showed for this unnecessary event. Hank stood there looking a bit sheepish in his black bow tie and half-hearted smile.

"You look downright lovely…" He said softly, before she could even address him, her eyes falling coyly to the ground. She just knew her cheeks were aflame with the ridiculous embarrassment she had over the situation between them, but she stepped back and gave him a laugh and a sideways glare.

"Don't get fresh with me!" She said, her best stern look creeping up to grace her normally relaxed features. It was her best attempt to intimidate him. If only she could muster up that anger she had for him in the beginning, but nothing would come to the surface. There wasn't any anger there anymore. It was the fact that he was closing in on her, his hand gently encircling her wrist that she had put up to shield his oncoming touch, that told her he didn't view her as an adversary any more. She gasped quietly and her mind ran circles trying to remember why she decided that they could not do this again. The reasoning escaped her as he pressed his mouth to the hollow of her neck and whispered softly into her ear. "We don't have to pretend here." She felt a shiver quake down her body causing goose bumps to pucker her soft skin. God, what the hell was he doing? Why was he doing it? Didn't that talk resolve any of the notions that this was not going to be a regular occurrence? There was no way she could fight the way her body reacted to a familiar touch she had enjoyed in the past so she bit down on her lip and closed her eyes tightly.

"I'm not pretending. I really can't stand being near you," She couldn't help but cast a grin at him. Her belly ached and her face burned red as she stood there looking into his big brown eyes. His breath was on her skin and soon his fingers grazed the side of her arm. Her body reacted and she sighed, their lips so close.

"And I can't stand it either," And then their lips met. She was lost in a torrent of blazing fire. Her knees felt weak as though they may cave at any second, but she was soon caught by the strength of his arms. She lulled to him, melted to him as he searched every soft, cavern of her mouth.

"Please," was all she could whimper. It was more of a stop than a welcoming, but Hank didn't hear it that way. She heard the door snap shut and soon her back was pressed to the wall.

His fingers were burning patterns up her thighs, her dress soon making its way into a crumpled ball of silky fabric between them. He pressed himself to her, as the kisses became deeper. How could he? How could he run his fingers in her hair and kiss her like that? It was maddening to think about, but then she had to remember that he was only a man. Self-control, in some cases, wasn't something they did very well. Her mind was reeling as his mouth found its way to her bare throat. It felt good to be wanted and needed this way, but there wasn't anything to look forward to aside from the physicality of it. She soon found her mind, but her lips were not spelling out words. She could feel him tugging roughly at her undergarments, as he pulled her leg up to his side. There was a break in contact while he fumbled with his pants. Scarla managed a low whine as her hands came up to press at his chest.

"No! Stop NOW!" She growled. There was an anger that exploded from her chest to her lips that finally allowed words to spill free from their fostered binds. Their eyes locked and suddenly reality reestablished itself around them. She watched his face completely drain of color as he stood there with his pants unbuttoned. There was so much she wanted to say and there was so much she was feeling at this point. In truth, she could have let him take her right there against the wall. Her body was begging for release, but her mind was more trapped than ever.

He dropped her gown and groaned. "I can't do this. I don't want to torture myself because I know this will never go anywhere!" It came out as a low grumble rather than how she intended it to be. Her heart was broken because she felt things for this man standing before her that she shouldn't be feeling. He was a married man. There was nothing for them. No future, no nothing. Tears spilled over the rim of her eyes and fell down her cheeks. She ached deep inside, but the only solution was to move on. To leave him behind.

Hank slammed his fist into the wall, a loud thud echoing in the suddenly hollow feeling home she had built for herself.

"I know," He agreed after a long moment of deliberation on his part. "I'm sorry. I just… I don't know what's wrong with me…" He rubbed his eyes under his glasses and slumped against the wall.

""There's nothing wrong with you," She considered putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, but refrained as he met her gaze. "Please understand how I feel, though. I don't want to be involved in something that will never move forward. I'm a young woman and I need something else… I need someone who can offer me something," She noted that Hank looked as though he might be sick right there, but his face regained a normal hue shortly as he nodded. His back straightened a bit as she stood in front of him quietly. There was a moment of understanding that lingered between the two of them as her eyes searched over him again. "Excuse me while I freshen up," she said as the clock in the hall chimed eight.

Scarla felt a sudden twinge of guilt as she eyed her reflection. Her face was tear stained and her lips were smoldering from his mouth and she knew that no matter what she was feeling for him, it was nothing that could ever be. Maybe it was stupid to have these sentiments over someone she in the heat of the moment crossed the line with. It was just sex. There were no feelings prior to the event aside from those that were contempt and disapproval for the way he had done his job. How could they have transitioned to what she had felt in her heart at this moment? She considered for a moment what it would truly be like to continue their illicit activities. She imagined many hours of love making and moments of sadness when he would have to leave. She fantasized about those fleeting and knowing glances they could give each other at work and quickly while no one was looking have a snog in the file room. She imagined the feeling she would have when he would brush his hand softly against her while the showroom was busy and the feelings that she would experience as everyone around them saw a spark igniting suddenly between them. There were butterflies in her stomach and a warm wave fell over her, but then the cruel truth was he would not be going home to her. This is why she had to move forward. She had to let him go. Get him out of her mind. Be free again.


	10. Chapter 10

The ride over was awkward and silent. He couldn't say anything else. There were strange feelings swimming through him and he didn't really understand how to confront them. It was all so new. He glanced over at Scarla at the corner of his eye and sighed. He was an ass. He had completely ignored her pleas to end what had been created. Was she having feelings for him? It had to be that because why else would she say she didn't want to torture herself? Or maybe he was just over thinking it all.

They turned into the parking lot for the Crystal Room. He knew it was going to be weird seeing Mr. Strickland after that moment and he was guilt-ridden. Hank was not the kind of man to do something so… so human. Everyone knows temptation and he was no exception, but he was supposed to be. He never wanted to be the man his father was. Cheating and womanizing and abusing, but here he was, following that same example. Worst of all, he was having all these emotions washing over him. Emotions relating to affection for Scarla.

He opened her door and extended his right hand to help her out of the truck. She took it timidly and gave a weak smile that resulted in an awkward moment. Hank rubbed his neck as she adjusted her dress. He noted that she looked gorgeous standing there in the soft Texas breeze, her long blonde streaked hair billowing about her like an angel's wings. She cast a wanting gaze in his direction and he peeled his eyes from her quickly, a blush creeping up his neck.

"Ready?" She asked, her silky gown puffing up in the wind. Hank stared at her and took a deep breath.

"Ready as I'll ever be," He smiled a little and so did she.

The Crystal Room was for the elite of Texas. It was not limited to Arlenites or Durndlers. Every big wig in Texas celebrated some milestone at the Crystal Room. It was stunning. Every corner of the room sparkled with candlelight and the dance floor glittered with some kind of intricate mirrored glass. It was truly incredible as the music lulled and divined dancers, soft shimmers of crystal flashing around in the dim light of the room. Buck stood at the bar chatting up some thin, big breasted blonde with a drink in tow. Hank nodded at him from across the room, Scarla scurrying over to him. Buck beamed down at her and wrapped his right arm around her narrow waist before pressing a kiss on her forehead. Hank smiled as she caved to Buck's touch. He could see how deeply they felt for one another. It was amazing. Buck was a different man with her near.

"Howdy ol' Top! Bout time you two got here! I was gettin' worried bout you all!" Buck slurred a little and squeezed Scarla's shoulder.

"Sorry, Uncle Buck, that was my fault. I wasn't quite ready when Hank got there to get me," She smiled and glanced at Hank, who had let his eyes wander over her petite features.

"Alright sugar babe, you go on and enjoy yourself tonight. Mingle with the finest Texas has to offer," Buck rubbed the side of her face with his hand. "Maybe you'll catch you a rich one!" Hank looked at her quickly at the corner of his eye and saw her staring in his direction, Buck oblivious to their momentary exchange of glances.

"Okay, UB. Maybe I will," She said rubbing his forearm with her dainty fingers and untangling herself from his grip. Hank watched her turn away, her slender form swaying softly to the romantic music drifting through the air around them.

"Oh, suga-babe," he called, causing her to turn slowly, the light capturing the sparkle in her jade eyes. "Put anything you want on my tab." Scarla nodded and drifted away slowly, the copious dancers swallowing her up.

"Damn, don't you just love the sway of that girl's hips?" came an all too familiar voice, whispering in Hank's ear. "I may have to get me some of that!"

"Thatherton!"Hank said gruffly.

"None other," the larger than life cowboy tipped his hat.

"You stay away from her!" Hank said in a low voice.

"Aw Hank, you got a soft spot for her?" Thatherton said in mocking tone. "I saw how you two were ogling each other. Tell me the truth, are you knocking boots with her? Does Peggy know?" Hank stepped back, anger spread over his face.

"Leave it, Thatherton," He said through gritted teeth.

"I'll just slather on a little of the T-charm and she will be all over me. I'll do the job you couldn't as usual," He said after adjusting his hat. Jealousy swam over Hank as he watched Thatherton make his way through the sea of dancers and take Scarla's hand, pulling her into a tight embrace and escorting her onto the floor in a swirl of smiles.

"I need a long island iced tea. Bartender!" Hank ordered a drink and slumped over in a barstool at the edge of the bar.

"Who pissed in your cheerios, ol' top?" asked Buck, who had sat next to him.

"Thatherton. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he is trying to seduce your niece," Hank said pointing to the two. For god's sake's she was even swooning. Swooning! "You want me to go have a talk with her?"

Buck looked over at the two and suddenly a wicked smile spread over his lips. "Oh now, Ol' Top, let's not be too hasty. We could use this to our advantage."

"How in the hell could this be used to our advantage. He's corrupting her!" Hank drowned down the rest of his long island and requested another.

"No, no, Hank, you're looking at this the wrong way. We will have an insider to what's going on under that big dumb hat," Buck drank down a swig of champagne, the buxom blonde he was charming earlier coming back to reside on his arm.

"Sir, I just don't see how this is going to change anything. How do you know she will tell you anything?"

"I know my sugar babe, she'll tell me," He said, his head in the bosom of the blonde.

"But Buck, look at him!" He pointed to them again. "He's dipping her and rubbing his… nether region on her." Hank ruffled his hair and growled.

"Got-dang Hank, I'm trying to get lucky here," Buck responded, his mouth finding its way to the neck of the bimbo on his arm.

Hank drank down another long island iced tea and called for another. He drank down several gulps before he stood and hobbled on to the dance floor, the remainder of his drink spilling out as he stumbled closer to Scarla. She threw her head back and laughed as Thatherton whispered something in to her ear.

"Thatherton," He turned the man in the cowboy hat and gave a weak smile. "I'm going to cut in." Hank grabbed Scarla by the waist and swirled her around.

"Hank, what the hell are you doing?" Scarla asked as she looked up at him. "Are you… are you drunk?"

"What? No, I'm not drunk. Do you know who you were just dancing with?" She looked up at him and shook her head. "A no good, philandering, skirt chasing, dirty dealing, rival, that's who!"

"What? No, that's M.F. Thatherton. He owns the propane dealership across from Strickland. He's very friendly," She said with a small grin on her lips.

"Yeah, that's what he wants you to think, so he can take you home and do things… to you," He said, his arm coming up and pulling her tight to him.

"No, you're wrong. He seems like a very decent man. Maybe you just don't know him as well as you think you do," She offered, as Hank stumbled a little causing her to trip over his feet. He caught her by the elbow and pulled her close to his face.

"Trust me, you don't know him at all if you think he's anything close to decent," He could feel her tremble in his arms. Thatherton! That bastard!


	11. Chapter 11

She felt cold and bizarre. The fact that she couldn't shake the feelings that she had was really bringing this whole encounter with him to a new level. Never had there been a moment in her life where she had this much indecision. She had truly regretted discontinuing the relationship, but had she not she was sure there would be more pain and sorrow than what she felt now. Hopefully the party would take her mind off of the ridiculous pining in her heart.

The Crystal Room was magnificent and completely filled with the upper echelons of Texas. She immediately spotted T- Boon Pickens and his wife Madeleine socializing with some other elitists who she had not recognized. The shear thought of being in the same room with a Texas billionaire was exciting to say the least. She was sure her uncle was feeling the same way right about now, knowing that he would most likely be schmoozing the old man and trying to cop a feel on his slightly younger and attractive wife. A smile crept up onto her lips as she spotted her uncle draped over a big breasted blonde. It was so like him. He called them over with the wave of a slightly drunken arm.

She found herself looking up at Hank who seemed to have flushed the perfect shade of crimson as they approached Buck. To be honest, she unexpectedly found herself ignoring every single word her uncle had said as she thought about the consequences of truly moving on. Her eyes scoured the dim lit room. There were plenty of men out there and they all looked like they were of good breeding and money. The easiest way to move on was to find someone else to focus one's attentions on and she supposed it would be the best thing to do.

Milton Farnesworth Thatherton. He was tall and debonair, his Texas accent tempting even the most conservative of women. He tipped his hat to Scarla and smiled, his fingers coming up to stroke his mustache down.

"Ms. Strickland."

"Mr. Thatherton."

"May I have this dance?"

"Yes. Yes, I'd like that," She couldn't help but smile, her lips quivering slightly with nervousness. He pulled her to him, his arms wrapping around her and comforting the anxiousness right out of her. He smelled like leather and single malt scotch. It was almost intoxicating as she pressed her face against the silk of his jacket, but even in the kind words of this man could not take her mind completely away from the man that had somehow stolen more of her heart than she would like to admit. She turned her head as Thatherton spouted on about taking her out to dinner soon, her eyes catching Hank who was headed in their direction. He stumbled through the dance floor spilling a little drink with each step he took, her eyes turned and focused on the man in front of her.

"I'm going to cut in," He insisted, pushing Thatherton out of the way. Scarla felt a surge of anxiety bolt through her veins again. She felt hanks arms lazily wrap around her, her eyes blinking silent apologies to Thatherton who had scoffed and stormed off. Hank hiccupped in her ear and brushed his lips against her forehead accidentally.

"Oh, excuse me…" She heard him whisper as she got lost in his scent. She inhaled him deeply hoping that she could remember it forever. It was different than Thatherton and reminded her of something more… well, delicate. Something more inviting and welcoming like the first time you step into your grandmother's house on a holiday or the smell of a new car before you drive it off the lot. He pushed his fingers between hers as she tried to place the fragrance of his body, his head dipping in closer to her. She thought for a moment that he may kiss her, but he hadn't. Gin and Rum lingered on his breath, his drunken behavior almost endearing.

"What the hell are you doing?" She asked, her face contorting into disbelief. "Are you… are you drunk?" It was obvious, but she asked any way.

"What? No, I'm not drunk. Do you know who you were just dancing with?"Scarla laughed and shook her head abruptly. She knew who he was, but of course, she didn't KNOW him especially not the way she had imagined her uncle or Hank knew him. "A no good, philandering, skirt chasing, dirty dealing, rival, that's who!"

"What? No, that's M.F. Thatherton. He owns the propane dealership across from Strickland. He's very friendly," Why was he pressing the issue? She just wanted to get on with things and he kept interfering.

"Yeah, that's what he wants you to think, so he can take you home and do things… to you," He said, his arm coming up and pulling her tight to him. Her stomach flipped and that familiar ache reared its ugly head. Her heart thrummed as his face pushed against hers nearly knocking his glasses off. She pulled away and looked up at him, her eyebrows knitting together in skepticism.

"No, you're wrong. He seems like a very decent man. Maybe you just don't know him as well as you think you do," She tripped and nearly fell into the couple dancing behind them, but Hank grabbed her elbow and pulled her to her feet and tightly into his embrace. Scarla blushed brightly before brushing a clump of loose ringlets from her face.

"Trust me, you don't know him at all if you think he's anything close to decent." She quivered, her body almost immediately responding to his lingering touch. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, a soft whimper spilling from her painted mouth. For a moment, she was absolutely thankful that the music was too loud for him to hear the reaction he pulled from her. Her mind reeled and a thousand emotions filled her being. She wanted to slap him, she wanted to kiss him and she wanted to cry. Part of her believed him and his plight even in his drunken state, but the other half of her, the desperate half that wanted to move on and be happy, said that he was just jealous. It was all something she needed to figure out on her own. She needed to get to know someone on her own. She just didn't know what to do, feel or think at this point, but she did know that this ridiculous obsession had to end now.


	12. Chapter 12

The halls were decked with boughs of holly and Christmas was fast approaching. The cool fall gave way to the surprisingly icy winter and business was booming which left little time to obsess over a certain accountant. Hank tugged off his jacket and hung it on his chair. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, still tired from the rush yesterday at noon. People came in by the dozens and they added four new accounts in just one day. It would certainly make for a good bonus this year, he thought.

"Good morning," Her sweet voice rang in the office. Hank peeked out his office door and smiled. She had presents in tow and unwrapped her scarf from her neck. "Hank! Come out here, I've got something for you!"

Hank opened his door and leaned out. "Aw, Scar, that's not really nec…" She put her hand up and laughed.

"Shut up and come here!" Hank let a smile creep on to his lips as he approached her. He leaned on the desk and gripped the edges, his ankles crossing. He watched her dig through a large tan bag and pull out a small velveteen box and a rectangular gift wrapped in shiny green paper. "I… Well… I… just wanted to get you something and I saw these things and thought of you." She handed him the small box first. He took it from her tiny little hands and looked at her radiant face. She glowed and he couldn't help but smile at her.

"You didn't have to, you know," He said, his eyes never leaving her. She looked down at the ground and blushed.

"Of course I didn't have to, but… I wanted to," She clutched the green wrapped rectangle in her hands. "Now open it!" He laughed as she shook his shoulders roughly, her teeth gritted. Hank grinned and looked at the blue soft box, turning it in his hands carefully. He opened the lid and inside laying against an ivory bed of satin was a silver fob watch, a flame engraved across the top. He pulled it from its silky binds and turned it over in his fingers. On the back were his initials. He ran his nail across the letters H.R.H. and suddenly a whine caught in the back of his throat. He coughed it away and sucked back the emotion he was overwhelmed by at the thoughtful gift. He looked at her, her face expectant, a little smile pinned to her lips.

"Do you like it?" She asked softly.

He opened the watch and looked at the face. It was pearly white with slender royal blue numbers. He choked back another bout of emotions and finally nodded.

"I…I love it. It's beautiful. Thank you," He said, his hand unconsciously reaching out and stroking her face. He rubbed his thumb across her plump bottom lip. "Thank you." He dropped his hand and cleared his throat.

"Here… and this… this too," She whispered nervously, her cheeks flaming red. He unwrapped it slowly, savoring her undivided attention, his eyes glancing up every now and then.

He pulled the last bit of paper off and turned over the glass picture frame. It was a signed photo of the 1977 Dallas Cowboys. He laughed abruptly causing her to jump.

"Thank you, thank you. I love it and look it really is Pat Donovan's signature! Master of the long flowing signature!" He stood up and wrapped her in his arms. She stood stiffly in his embrace that maybe lingered a little longer than it should have. He touched the top of her head with his hand and laughed. Her face tilted upward and she smiled, her eyes searching his face for an answer as to why he was laughing.

"What?" She snorted.

"Nothing. I'm just happy," He admitted. "Thanks for this. You are a one in a million kind of girl." She stepped out from the comfort of his embrace and chuckled.

"Well, thank you. It means everything coming from you, someone who once upon a time, despised me." Her eyes sparkled like two little jewels. Hank kicked at the floor and looked down.

"You despised me first!" He joked, his arms crossing quickly. His smile slowly left his mouth and he contemplated his next question before speaking it. "So… How are you and Thatherton?" A pluck of jealousy echoing in his head. "Is he being nice to you?"

Scarla slid into her chair and leaned back, her dainty fingers tugging at her shirt to straighten it.

"Of course. He's a very sweet and caring man…" Hank burst into a fit of laughter and slammed his open hand down on the desk to emphasize how he found it comical. "What?" She threw her hands up. "You asked!" Hank grabbed his stomach and sat in a spare chair across from her desk, propping his elbows up on his knees and letting his face sink into his palms.

"You got that right. I did ask," He shook his head and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "I just never imagined that things would last this long. I can't stand it, Scar!"

She leaned on her desk with her right elbow and slid her hand up the center, touching a few fingers on the pieces of green wrapping paper that had been torn from the gift he had received. "Do you not want me to move on?" Her voice quaked, her eyes never meeting his.

"Not with Thatherton. He's a terrible person!" He slapped his knees and looked at her, his face red with contempt. "Can't you find someone else? Anyone? God, I wouldn't even care if you were with John Redcorn or even… or even my neighbor and lifelong friend Bill Dauterive! Anyone but got-dang M.F. Thatherton!" Scarla groaned and crumpled the green paper in her fist.

"I don't know why you hate him…"

"I'll tell you about a hundred reasons if you give me the time," He nodded and readjusted his glasses on his face. "Hell, I might even be able to come up with 200 hundred!"

"He's good to me, Hank. Doesn't that mean anything at all?" Scarla's eyes glistened with tears. He laughed heartily.

"Yeah! He's good now while he's still trying to get you wrapped around his lying, sadistic finger!" He stood, the chair almost falling to the ground. He twisted the chord on the blind letting the orange sunlight in on the office. Scarla blinked her eyes against the impeding fingers of sun, tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. Hank felt guilt bite him and his heart fell when he saw those tears rimming her eyes.

"Aw, Scar. Damnit, I'm sorry," He rubbed the back of his neck and went to her side. "I just… well… I… I care for you and I don't want to see you get hurt." He touched her hair and she looked up at him with amazement pasted where hurt once was.

"You what?" She gasped in disbelief at what she had just heard. Hank knelt down beside her, his hand running up the side of her face.

"I care for you. Deeply." Hank watched her eyes search his. "I have cared for you for a long time."

"But…"

"But, I can't leave my wife. I couldn't do that to her… not after 20 years. I mean what kind of man would I be if I did that? What kind of man am I now after what we did? But I can't leave her. Would you still feel the same about me if I could do that so easily?" He said, his eyes searching hers as she sat silently in the chair beside him. She shook her head slowly.

"No, you're right. You're doing the right thing."

"And…and well… I care for you enough to worry about who you are with. You deserve someone who will respect you and treat you the way you deserve to be treated and never lie to you. I just don't think that's Thatherton."

"The world is such a cruel place. I will think about what you said, but right now, I am going to continue seeing Milton, but I can't make my choices in life because you hate someone."

Hank sighed and gave up his plight. He stood up and looked down at her tiny form, her eyes still damp with the tears that he had caused.

"Ok. Ok… if you think it's right. Ok," He gave a downward stare to her once more and turned to head into his office. It was so out of his element to profess his tender feelings to someone, but he wanted her to understand how strongly he felt about the situation. He didn't want Thatherton to hurt her. He never wanted to see her pretty face cry especially because of that asshole, but she was right. She had to make her own decisions in life and he had to just accept that a person he felt so strongly for would be with someone he despised.


	13. Chapter 13

"Make love to me, Hank," Peggy kissed him on the bare shoulder as he laid next to her. He rolled over and looked at her, her brown eyes warm with love. He touched her face with his hand and closed his eyes, a sudden rush of excitement flooding his body. She smiled and kissed his fingers and then his knuckles, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

"Well, alright," He said quietly. She sat up and pulled her night gown over her head, her panties soon being discarded on the floor beside the bed.

"I'm ready," She said.

"Ok," He removed his glasses and slid his boxers down past his knees and kicked them off under the covers. He kissed her softly, his lips lingering on her mouth, but no tongue. She ran her hands up his back as he positioned himself between her spread knees and tugged at his hair. He suddenly had a sickening thought fill him. He imagined Thatherton on top of Scarla. His fingers digging in to her bare flesh, his mouth tasting her soft, supple body and nipping her pert little nipples. He envisioned her whimpering underneath his rough thrusts her slender legs spread far apart and her fingernails raking down his back and embedding deep into his hair. His eyes blinked trying to shut out the horrible images that ran through him like rushing water, but all he could hear were desperate moans, her frantic begging to come pervading his every sense. It was sickening. Hank rested his head on his arm, his heart rapping like a drum.

"Hank?" Peggy said, her voice filled with concern. "Are you alright?"

He rubbed his eyes and Scarla's beautiful face came into view. Her lovely, ageless face staring back at him with those glowing eyes of jade, her elegant fingers dancing across stacks of paper as she sorted out the desk. Then, she was bent over on all fours with a naked Thatherton slamming himself into her perfect, innocent, angelic body. Then she was saying his name, her lips curved in that sweet smile he loved to see. No, the smile he _had_ to see. And then she was gone. She was gone and Thatherton had taken her from him. Jealousy destroyed everything in him. Jealousy and anger and fear and complete sadness. He was drowning in guilt and sorrow, nausea overwhelming him. Unwanted tears filled his eyes. It was too much for him to take. He jumped up and ran for the bathroom.

"I'm going to be sick…"

He vomited. And he cried.

"Oh, Hank, can I get you something?" Peggy asked from behind the closed door.

"No. Just leave me alone." He leaned against the toilet for support and then stood to wipe his eyes with a hand towel. He was sick in the head. Why was he torturing himself like this? He didn't know why, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he was on the road to insanity.

He did love his wife. There was no question about it. She was like the old trusty and comfortable pair of sneakers that you go back to even after wearing a nice, expensive pair of loafers, but maybe after 20 years of wearing the same sneaker over and over, they got a little worn out and boring. He wondered if she had felt the same way about him. The same old, same old was usually enough to make him happy, but after having a taste of something new and exciting it was like a punch in the gut to let it go. Guilt filled his chest and he looked at the floor and sniffed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. His wife was not an old sneaker. What a terrible analogy! She was his best friend and…and… well, she was his better half. Maybe he was having some sort of horrible mid-life crisis. Well, if it was a mid-life crisis, he sure as heck wasn't going out to buy a convertible or something stupid like that. All he wanted was for this feeling to go away. This feeling of emptiness that filled the pit of his stomach. His heart felt like it was not even beating in his chest and nothing tasted good. He was numb, but with her, he could feel. Her smile lit the darkest corridors of his soul, her beautiful shimmering eyes staring deep into his being like she might actually understand him and her lips. Oh God in heaven, her sweet lips. Plump, luxurious and incredibly soft against his own. She was with Thatherton and she was sharing with him all the things that they couldn't. Hank felt tears prickle his eyes, but he quickly pushed them back and cleared his throat, his hands gripping the sink tightly. It's funny how their little rendezvous changed everything between them in just a split second. Hatred turned into something else. He wasn't quite sure where to classify what he had felt for her. Maybe somewhere between like and love. All he knew was that he was going absolutely insane.


	14. Chapter 14

It was Saturday, the day after Christmas when Hank got a phone call from Buck. Apparently, there was an important casual get together at Thatherton's house and for some reason they were invited. Buck sounded worried and Hank knew when Buck was worried he usually did things he regretted, so despite his abhorrence for M.F. Thatherton, he decided to go anyway to keep an eye on his boss. And maybe see Scarla. Maybe. It was at 7 so Hank retired to his bedroom to prepare. His wife was propped up on the bed watching television. She looked up at him and smiled. He cleared his throat as he brushed his hair in the mirror of the bathroom.

"Going to keep an eye on Buck at Thatherton's party," Hank said while preparing a hefty clump of bright blue toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

"What? Thatherton? Why would Buck be at Thatherton's party?" Peggy asked, her eyebrows knitting together in curiosity. Hank looked at the toothbrush and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I think it has to do with his niece," Hank slid the toothbrush into his mouth and brushed slowly as thoughts formulated in her mind and questions crossed her eyes.

"The blonde? The one that you don't get along with? The accountant?" She responded. "Well, what about her?" Hank rinsed his mouth thoroughly and spit into the sink.

"Well, she's… she's _dating _Thatherton. If that's what you can call it…" He said, wiping his mouth on a towel.

"Dating? Thatherton?"

"Yes! That's what I said," He felt irritation sweltering in his stomach as she continued to ask questions.

"I… I… I don't understand. Why would Strickland's niece be dating Thatherton?" Peggy continued. Hank walked heavy footed to the closet and yanked out a white shirt, his mind reeling. He knew why, but he couldn't truly say. His lips quivered as he threw the shirt over his shoulder and began buttoning it up.

"She finds him… I don't know… interesting, I guess," He said as he pulled a pair of dark blue slacks on with a perfect pleat in the front.

"How does Buck feel about it?" She leaned forward, her hand stroking her hair behind her ear.

"He thinks is beneficial to the company. He thinks she will reveal any trade secrets associated with Thatherton Fuels," He propped his foot on the bench in front of the bed and laced his shoes roughly.

"I take it you don't think so…"

"Your got-dang right I don't think so," Hank interrupted, his hands gripping a matching dark blue jacket. "He's the worst kind of no good dirty dealer. This is the last thing Strickland Propane needs! It's ridiculous!"

"Well, you go save the day," She said with a sigh. "Strickland should pay you just for saving his frijoles all the time. We'd be rich then." Peggy stood up and adjusted his tie. "There you go." She patted him on the shoulder and looked up at him with a smile. He felt that same twinge of guilt as he looked at his loyal wife, but the darkness that had grown inside of him begged to be free of its devious binds. He was no longer the man he was and his marriage did not mean what it had meant a few months ago. His voracious obsession was tormenting him, driving him to the edge of a spiraling maelstrom. He could be lost at any second, pulled under the powerful force of the sea that was Scarla. Hank looked away from Peggy.

"Ok, see you later." He said. "Don't wait up for me."

"Alright. Take care of business, Hank," Peggy said with a smile pasted to her narrow lips.

"Hank!" Scarla answered the front door at Thatherton's house.

"Scar," He nodded, his hand finding its way into his pocket nervously. He looked her up and down. She was beautiful as always. Her hair was down, big curls hanging down to her waist and she wore a simple, puffy knee length dress. Hank noted that she looked especially exquisite in navy blue. He looked down at her tiny bare feet and smiled. She would be walking around barefoot at a party.

"I didn't know you were coming!" She leaned on the door frame, her eyes heavy with what Hank assumed to be booze.

"Um, yeah, well Buck called me and said he wanted me to meet him here. He sounded… worried," Hank offered a quick explanation to Scarla as she stood in front of him, her little hand clutching a high ball.

"Well come in, come in," She moved back and allowed Hank to come into the foyer, her fingers brushing his hand accidentally as he passed. "Hank, you look nice." She said sweetly as they entered the great room of the house, where guests were already drinking and mingling. A pianist was playing some soft elevator music in front of the fire place and a Christmas tree stood twinkling in the corner.

"You do too," He said quietly, her bare arm resting against his. She looked up at him. He couldn't place it, but there was something different about her. Her eyes were not there usual radiant shade of glowing green. They were dim and weak and it made Hank feel uneasy.

"Drink?" She asked.

"Sure, beer. Is Buck here?" Hank asked. She stumbled over to the wet bar and cracked open a beer.

"He's with Jessica upstairs." Hank eyed her as she handed him the beer.

"Jessica?" He took a slow sip from the bottle.

"Yeah, Milton's massage therapist. She's giving my uncle the deep tissue treatment." She hiccupped and groaned.

"Well, he made it seem like something was wrong… I… well… if everything is alright, I'm going to go," Hank said his eyes skimming the 25 or so people standing around chatting. Scarla grabbed his arm and pulled him down a dark hall to a large coat closet. She put her finger over her lips and opened the door, her hand tugging on his coat sleeve.

"What?" He asked. "What's going on?" her face contorted into a pained expression as she dug her nails into his wrist.

"Oh, Hank. It's Milton. He… he's going to ask me to marry him…" Hank felt a sudden swell of jealousy in his chest, his heart pounding rapidly behind his ribcage. He rubbed his neck and forced a smile.

"Congratulations…"

"Congratulations? Congratula… Hank, I can't marry him. I don't know what to do," She looked frantic.

"And why not? Just the other day you said he was what you wanted," He brought up the past argument they had had over Thatherton.

"Yes, but not as a husband…" She gripped the lapel of his jacket, her eyes glimmering in the faint light of the overhead lamp. She blinked slowly and lazily, her lips swollen and pink. "You really do look fantastic, Hank," She whispered.

"Thanks. So why do you not want to marry him…" She pushed her finger to his lips and smiled, her left hand trailing up to his face. He stared down at her, his heart racing and his stomach tingling. She put her hands on his shoulders and stood on her tiptoes, her mouth pressing against his. He pulled back, wide eyed.

"You've been drinking…"he said softly, but she pulled him back into her kiss. Her tongue pressed into him fervently, desperately and he obliged. She tasted so sweet and it had been so long since they had shared a kiss, it left Hank breathless. She gasped loudly when Hank pulled her head back and kissed her throat. She broke free of his hold and wriggled out of her panties. Hank stood in front of her, shocked and surprised, but willing. He touched the succulent bare flesh beneath her dress, his hand running over the sumptuous curve of her bottom and down her soft bare thighs. He felt her shiver beneath his fingertips and he smiled. It was quite enjoyable to see the affect he had on her, though it could have been the alcohol too. She tugged at his belt until it came loose. He helped her unsteady fingers to finish the task as she couldn't seem to get the button free from its groove. His pants fell to the floor around his ankles, her hand dipping into the slit of his boxers and pulling his aching erection from the confines of the fabric. He sucked air in abruptly as her fingers encircled him tightly and squeezed. She whimpered, her lips puffy and begging for his kiss. He leant in and pulled her into his arms, his lips catching hers, their tongues entwining passionately. Hank let his hands linger in her silky hair before they traveled down to her tiny waist and then on beneath her knees. He picked her up in one swift motion, her calves dangling over his arms and her dress hiked up over her soft belly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sucked his lip between her teeth, sweet pants spilling from her. He pushed her against the free wall, trapping her there and gently sliding himself inside of her dripping opening. Hank nearly lost all strength in his legs that were currently supporting himself and her weight. She moaned uncontrollably as he crushed his mouth down on hers to silence her.

"God, you are so warm… and wet. Are you this wet because of me?" He dug his fingers into the plump skin of her bottom and shifted his weight to his right foot. She groaned and moaned a little louder.

"Yes… yes… fuck yes. Have me, Hank," She rocked her hips back and forth on his cock, her mouth falling open and her head lulling back. He pushed her into the wall harder, his hands laying flat against it, her ankles still hooked over his forearms. He slammed into her over and over, his face twisting and contorting as her cunt swallowed him. He could barely make her face out in the dim lighting, but he saw her eyes clamp shut tightly. She was enjoying this. He groaned at the sight of her biting her bottom lip and his body trembled.

"I'm not going to last much longer…Not like this. You feel too good," he admitted openly. She sighed and nodded, her lips drawing up into a bowlike smile. She sucked his neck and bit down playfully.

"Do I, Hank, do I feel good?" her speech was slurred and inarticulate. She grumbled disjointed words and dug her nails into Hank's back.

"God yes. So good," He responded, his tongue slipping into her mouth as their bodies molded into one. His name ripped from her lips so loud, he feared that the guests may have heard her, but she didn't seem to care. He couldn't stop, he didn't want to. Scarla bucked roughly against him and dipped her head down, her eyes rolling back. Warm tingles ran all over his body, his release near. And in between her moans, he came, filling her up. She screamed into his mouth as he slipped his fingers down to rub her clit, her own release coming soon after his.

They stood there, bodies still entwined, looking at one another, searching for an answer. Searching for something. He kissed her softly, her eyes fluttering delicately against the plump radiant skin of her cheeks. She smiled, her arms clinging tightly around his neck and her ankles still dangling from his forearms. She did look beautiful and tempting, her face strewn with relief and satisfaction. He let her slide down, his still semi-erect cock pulling from the warm sheath of the tight cleft between her thighs. He cleared his throat and pulled his slacks up and adjusted his clothes until he looked somewhat presentable. He watched her put her panties back on and straighten her hair. Scarla was quiet standing there fully dressed again. She crossed her arms and looked down at the ground. Hank wasn't sure what she was thinking and he couldn't completely make out the expression on her face, but she sighed and her arms hugged her body tightly.

"What do I do Hank?" She asked finally, her voice cracking. He pulled her into him and tilted her downcast face upward. "What do I do?"

"You have to make that call. I can't do it for you," He ran his thumb over the bones of her jawline and up to her fleshy bottom lip, his nail tracing the soft curve of it, his mind trying to remember it forever.

"Life isn't fair. Not at all," She cried, her own hand coming up to clutch Hank's.

"You've got that part right," He agreed, his own internal conflicts chipping away at the remainder of his sanity, his heart broken a million times over as he continued to torture himself. "Listen, you can do whatever you like. It's your life. If you want to marry Thatherton, marry him." She looked away from him as tears began to spill over onto her face.

"I don't want you to, but who am I to tell you how to live? I'd be a hypocrite then, right?" He rubbed her bare arms and brushed a clump of hair away from her eyes. "I just want you to be happy, ok? Can you promise me that?"

Scarla wiped her eyes and sniffed, her fingers curving around his face. "Yes, but I want…"

"Scarla! Where the hell are you?" Came a familiar voice, Texas twang intact.

"Oh shit," She whispered. "It's Milton." Hank stepped back away from her. She straightened herself once more and opened the closet door. "I'm here, honey. I was… uh… helping Hank put away his coat."

Hank stepped out behind her. Thatherton looked at the two of them.

"Thatherton." Hank nodded, his eyes never leaving that god-awful mustache.

"What the hell's going on here?" He asked eyeing the two of them. Scarla looked up at him. "Why are you crying?" He said gruffly. Scarla looked at him again her eyes wide.

"Huh? Crying, I'm not crying. Everything is fine, honey," She said happily, her fingers entwining into his. "I was just hanging his coat and showing him your enormous coat closet." Thatheron wrapped his hand possessively around her forearm, pulling her behind him.

"You better watch yourself, Hank. Now's not the time to go losin' your morals," He threatened.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Hank said defensively. Scarla looked nervous as she rang her hands.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Thatherton looked down at Scarla. "You're lucky I don't tell Peggy…"

"Milton, please, it's… it's not what you think…"

"I know what it is, Scarla. Hank here has got a little soft spot for you," He taunted. Hank stepped back and laughed. If Thatherton only knew. Nothing was soft in her presence.

"Well, I see my welcome is worn out. Scarla, I'll be going now. Tell Buck thanks for pulling me away from my busy evening for nothing," Hank said, pushing past Thatherton and making his way to the door. Luckily, the little scene in the hall had not spilled out into the great room of the house where the party was happening. The people were still busy mingling and chatting each other up and the pianist still played some lazy tunes in front of that roaring fire. Hank felt liberated for a moment as he pulled the door open and slammed it pretentiously, leaving the party far behind him. He heard tiny footsteps and the door slamming again.

"Hank! Wait!" She grabbed his sleeve. Hank yanked away roughly. "Hank, please!"

"Go on, Scarla, go on and marry that son of a bitch. See what I care," He said before getting in to his truck and speeding off leaving Scarla standing there, confused and bewildered.


	15. Chapter 15

Scarla stood there watching Hank's truck lights fade in the distance and her heart mourned. She didn't know what to do and her mind was hazy from the over indulgence on expensive champagne and a steamy encounter in a coat closet. Her head dropped and she sighed. She felt so overwhelmed with everything, but her gut was telling her that she had to do the right thing based on what she felt. She most certainly did not want to pass up a chance at real happiness because of a fling. But it wasn't really a fling. A fling would mean that there were no feelings involved, right? She did feel for Hank. Something. She didn't know how to define it or where to store it in her mind and heart, but there was something that kept drawing her back to him. They had laid it all to rest, but for some reason they continued to test their luck. Every time she wound up in his arms. It was so unfair and for an instance she may have almost given up 20 years of her life just to maybe have a chance to meet him before he met Peggy. Foot falls suddenly pulled her from her deliberations and warm arms pulled her into a snug embrace.

"Come on inside, baby. Don't worry about that stick in the mud," She looked up at Milton and smiled. "There's a reason why he's so miserable all the time."

"I just feel so bad for him. He… he is so pitiful and sad…" She admitted.

"Baby, Hank has always been that way. Ain't no fixin' that," He said into her hair. "That's years of being a tight ass." She turned to look at Milton and kissed his cheek.

"Ok, well let's go in. I'm getting chilly. How's my uncle's massage going?" She asked trying to change the subject casually.

"Nevermind that, I have to ask you something. I was going to ask in front of everyone, but I decided that maybe it would be a better idea to do it in private…" He pulled his hat off his head and pressed it to his chest, his eyes downcast. Scarla felt uneasy as he took her tiny hand in his and bowed down on one knee. "Scarla Strickland, will you do me the great honor of being…" He dropped his hat on his knee and removed a small silver box from his shirt pocket. "My wife?" Milton opened it, revealing a beautiful three stoned ring nestled in its green satin inside. She gasped. Part of her wanted to run and part of her wanted to say yes because who else did she have. She stood silently, taking the box in her hand and staring deeply at the ring. It sparkled in the warm flickering gas lanterns on the porch of his house.

"Milton… I… I don't know what to say…" She whispered.

"You don't have to decide right now. I'll give you time to think it over. Wear it too, see how it fits," He said taking the ring out of its binds and placing it on her finger. It fit her perfectly and looked stunning sitting on her hand. She smiled as he dipped his head in and pressed his lips to her mouth.

Scarla didn't know what to do. She was so lost and confused, but maybe this was a good decision. Milton was a handsome, knowledgeable, eligible, businessman. He had always been respectful and kind to her and maybe it was the right thing to do. Combining two rival businesses. Perhaps he and Buck could come to some sort of understanding. Maybe a merger! The possibilities were endless! But Hank. Oh, Hank. He would never speak to her again. She would lose him forever. Well, it's not like he was ever hers to lose. He was someone else's.

XXXX

She stared at her reflection in the mirror of the powder room, her eyes red rimmed with the sadness that filled her so. Scarla Strickland was no one. She was the abandoned daughter of two different men and the orphan of a casualty of cancer. The only person she had to rely on was herself and the shoddy promises of a not even blood uncle. She reevaluated that last thought. Buck was the only person who ever provided for her aside from her mother and despite his many demons, Buck was a greater angel than people knew and gave him credit for. If it wasn't for him she would have never gotten where she is today. With that said, Scarla knew she could never fully rely on him because of how inconsistent he was. The binges, the women, and the lack of control could at any minute damn her to a life of destitution since she relied on him so heavily for monetary support. So she tread lightly her whole life and career as a student in hopes that he would contain himself just long enough for her to complete her degree. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with a tissue in hopes of completely obliterating all sadness from her, but the tears continued to pour. Her composed façade and education hid the truth and hid it quite well. No one would ever suspect that underneath that refined exterior lay a child desperately searching for something to hold on to. Some semblance of normalcy that she never had. Believe it or not, Scarla was a quiet girl that rarely acted on any feelings. She kept to herself and found it difficult to connect with others especially men since she had such a lack of trust in them. Any time she had gotten close to a man or well… a boy, she was used and discarded like rubbish on the side of the road. Her hands trembled and she closed her eyes. Hank Hill would never leave his wife for her and it stung deeper than anyone would ever realize, but then Milton Thatherton offered her the world on a silver platter. Yet she did not feel the same. If she said yes to his request, she'd be living a lie because she did not love him. And sure there were lots of other eligible bachelors out in the world, but none that could fill the void that a certain propane salesman had inadvertently drilled within her soul. Scarla leaned against the wall and sobbed, her heart aching and her mind troubled beyond belief. This was a time that she could really use a girlfriend, but those were a scarcity these days too. Unfortunately, the only real friend she had was the only person she could never tell all this to. She wiped her face again and splashed cold water on her burning hot cheeks. One or two practice smiles in the mirror and she was out the door and back to the party. Hopefully, they'd just think it was the booze and not suspect anything else.


	16. Chapter 16

A few weeks had passed and the rumors had spread that Scarla Strickland and M.F. Thatherton were to be married within the next year. Hank had battled his own demons and decided that he just couldn't speak to her any more unless it had to do with Strickland Propane. He avoided her mercilessly, even when she came to him begging for advice on something to do with her relationship to that son of a bitch. He shut her out. He slammed the door in her face and left her standing there, sobbing like a punished child. He felt terribly, but the truth was, it was all he could do to save himself at this point. Suffering a little now could save him much more in the future. He heard people talking about how Thatherton had changed his philandering ways since Scarla had come along, so maybe she was doing something good. But how could she not make a bad man good. She was an angel. She could marry Hitler and change him. He stared at the silver fob watch she had given him and sighed, his fingers running over the smooth glass face. Hank pushed it deep into the pocket of his pants and restacked some papers that were strewn haphazardly across his desk. Back to the bland reality of his life. His fingers touched the rim of his coffee mug and he decided it was a necessity to have another steaming cup of liquid energy before finishing the purchase orders for the week.

He walked into the show room and to the hall passing her on the way in. She looked at him wide eyed, but he looked away.

"Hank," He heard her say softly under her dark lashes, her lips quivering a little.

He ignored her and continued his pilgrimage to the refrigerator, finding that the break room was occupied with Maria and Melinda.

"Did you see Scarla's ring?" He heard Maria whisper to Melinda in the break room. "It's so beautiful! She's wearing it today!" Hank pretended to dig in the fridge.

"I heard that he bought her a brand new BMW as a birthday present!" Melinda said with a soft laugh. "Who would have thought she could change Thatherton!" A BMW? No, she would have been driving it, right? Damn, they were moving fast, he thought.

"I wonder when the wedding date is…" Maria mumbled into her sandwich. "I wonder if they are sleeping together…" She added after swallowing a big bite.

"They have to be. You don't get a rock like that without taking one for the team…" Hank gritted his teeth. "She must let him do whatever he wants to her because why else would he be so inclined to leave behind his… well… his ways," Melinda laughed.

"Anal…" Maria said between sips of her diet soda eliciting a heartier laugh from Melinda. Hank gripped the door on the fridge and slammed it shut, knocking some of the magnets onto the floor.

"Would you two just shut the hell up? No one wants to hear your filth! You shouldn't be talking about her in that way! Don't say another word about SCARLA STRICKLAND!" He banged his hands on the table they were sitting at, his voice causing them to cower in fear of his blistering temper. Scarla appeared in the doorway and stared at him as he banged his fist against the table.

"Hank, stop it! What are you doing?" She said, her face reddening. "Stop!" She grabbed his fist in her hand, but he yanked away.

"Don't touch me, damnit!" He felt sick to his stomach staring at her sweet face, his chest heaving up and down violently as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes caught sight of the ring that so many people had been talking about and rage filled him again. He grabbed her hand and stared at it. The ring twinkled at him and he closed his eyes as if to shut out the whole horrible situation. He squeezed her dainty fingers together in his hand tightly, his fingers palpating her pulse. She looked frightened as if he may hit her, but truth be told, he could barely look at her any more, much less lay his hands on her in anger. He dropped her hand and stepped back out of his daze as everyone crowded around the door to the break room trying to figure out what the hell was going on with the golden boy of Strickland Propane. Melinda and Maria sat still wide eyed, mouths agape like codfish. He was a stupid idiot. He looked at the ground as Scarla stood in front of him, her arms limp at her sides, her brows furrowed together with concern.

"I'm sorry… I… I have to leave…" He pushed past her and squeezed through the throng of employees that stood wondering what the hell had gotten in to him. His feet pounded the floor until he hit the front entrance. The sky was a dead grey again. Dull and sunless. He shivered underneath its cloudy emptiness. There was nothing but dread filling him and suffocating him. It was like he was underwater and he couldn't quite reach the surface. He kept paddling and paddling, but he far too deep. Hank pulled the door open on his truck and looked around and surely enough, sitting in her usual parking spot sat a shiny black convertible with a license plate that read SCARSCAR. He gasped and tears filled his eyes. He choked back the need to cry and sped away as quickly as he could.

He drove down to the lake. Some quiet time to reflect on what he was feeling was needed. Hank never really liked to acknowledge these kinds of feelings, but he had to lay everything to rest and accept that this was real. That she would probably marry Thatherton. He did, after all, tell her to do what she wanted. He was a fool. At home, he had a loving wife, a 20 year bond and here he sat, yearning for a little girl. A 24 year old… no… 25 now, she had a birthday last week. Here he sat yearning for a 25 year old girl. Jealous of another man's love for her. Ridiculous. He thought he'd moved on, but no. He couldn't. When he saw her face, it just wasn't true. Like that Paul Davis song.

He was a scoundrel. There was no other way to describe what he was acting like. A child maybe, but no… Scoundrel was more fitting. He was sick in the head.

"Enough." He whispered. "Enough."


End file.
